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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465692">This Christmastide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucie/pseuds/lucie'>lucie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Smallville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Smut, Clois, F/M, Fix-It, post-bride</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucie/pseuds/lucie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Bride. After Lana's unexpected return, Clark and Lois figure out where they stand in the midst of the Christmas season.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Lois Lane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Christmastide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this several years ago for a Secret Santa challenge. Finally bringing it over to AO3 with the rest of my fic. This was written immediately post-Bride, before we knew where the Lana storyline was going. Let me know what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - </em>Emily Brontë</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>11:45 a.m.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>22 December 2008</b>
</p><p> </p><p>"There's something wrong with me, Clark. I have to find Dr. Groll or I'll die, and nothing you can do will stop that."<br/><br/>"What?—Why?" He furrowed his brow, struggling to find the question he wanted to pose all the while wondering exactly how many times she was going to come in his life only to leave it again. They'd been standing awkwardly in the farmhouse kitchen, waiting for Oliver, trying to think of something to say to each other that wouldn't hurt. She'd been staying at the Talon while in town, and they'd both attempted to ignore the giant what-was between them; it helped having the mission to find Lex as common ground. He'd asked—making conversation, an effort to catch up as friends would—what she was working on with Oliver and this hadn't been the answer he expected.</p><p> </p><p>She smiled, bitterly, a sheen of tears making her eyes shine. "Lex. That's why I'm trying to find Dr. Groll. He's the only one who can help me. Lex was using my DNA in experiments with kryptonite, trying to make a metahuman. Something he did to me is breaking down the cells in my body. Dr. Groll was doing these treatments that help, but he's disappeared."</p><p> </p><p>"What can I do?" he asked, running hand through his hair. "There's got to be something—"</p><p> </p><p>Not for the first time, Clark questioned how he could have ever been friends with Lex Luthor. His father had been right all along, and once again, Clark hadn't listened. If he had, if'd known better, he could've protected Lana from all this.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing. Dr. Groll can't find out anything about you, Clark, it's too risky. Oliver and I can handle it, your place is here. Doing what you've been doing and saving people. I need to do this myself," she paused only briefly, "Without you."</p><p> </p><p>"Lana—"</p><p> </p><p>"Please let me say this." She took a few steps closer, gazing up at him. Sorrow warred with her pleading pout, making her lips tremble and eyes bright. "I need you, but the <em>world</em> needs you, Clark. I can't stand in the way of that. I can't keep holding you back. If I hadn't left, you'd have been living your life here on the farm with me and you'd never have needed to step out of the shadows as a hero. We would have been so happy, but at what cost? Your destiny is more important that our love. You have a responsibility."</p><p> </p><p>"And I have to be alone," he finished for her. It was the only thing he could seem to grasp on to from her speech. "But what about what <em>I </em>need?"</p><p> </p><p>Giving the same sad smile as before, she took his hand in hers. "You don't need me. Look at your life since I've left. You've thrived."</p><p> </p><p>He'd already taken a breath to speak when she finished, but the words—denial, protestations, loneliness—failed to form. He'd always been lonely, even with Lana, and though he'd felt acutely alone with an empty farm, it wasn't necessarily Lana's absence that made the house quiet. His mother, his father, Lois . . . He'd missed them too. Maybe even, his mind barreled on, more.</p><p> </p><p>But surely, surely she was wrong. Her presence wouldn't have prevented him from starting work at the Planet (would it? would Lois have given him the application? would he have given it a second glance? He didn't like the answer that settled like a lead weight on his feet) and she wouldn't have prevented him from saving people with his abilities (except—why had it taken so long for him to start taking it seriously?).</p><p> </p><p>He'd loved her—wasn't that enough reason for needing her? It was all well and good that he'd needed to grow up, start a life outside of Smallville, but did that mean he had to lose everything? Pete, Kyla, his parents, Alicia, Lana—everyone left him at some point. He'd been told a hundred times what a responsibility he had to the world, to help people and be a hero, and he got that, he did, but couldn't—just once—someone want to save him?</p><p> </p><p>Lana's eyebrows lifted as she tilted her head back to gaze up at him. "See? But you don't have to be alone, Clark. You have Chloe, Jimmy, Oliver, me, your mother, Lois . . . You'll never be alone. And just because we can't be together doesn't mean I don't love you. I'll always love you."</p><p> </p><p>There should've been joy at the admission, he should've held on to her words and begged her to reconsider their getting back together. But he couldn't move and couldn't get his thoughts past the fact that, quite suddenly, became obvious: Lana didn't understand him anymore. Even when he told her, she misunderstood, and had it always been this way?</p><p> </p><p>Unbidden, Lois' voice ran through his head: <em>You just gotta trust your gut, as hard as it is, and realize that you broke up for a reason.</em></p><p> </p><p>God, he missed Lois. She'd be the first one to tell him how absolutely useless this rollercoaster with Lana was. That he needed to try another flavor, one not involving endless years of ping-pong: together-not, together-not, together-not.</p><p> </p><p>He took a step back, gripping his hair with both hands. He wished she hadn't come back. He'd been past all this, moving on (Lois' face beneath the strings of white lights, jazz soft in the background, a warm hand on his chest that set his heart racing faster than his feet had ever gone) until now, with this mixed signals tug-of-war. How was he supposed to move on from a relationship that never ended? She said she'd always love him, and once upon a time, he'd have jumped at the chance to confess the same. But he didn't want to. Wasn't even sure he could.</p><p> </p><p>This thing with him and Lana? One way or another, they had to settle it. For good. Together or not, no longer both, no longer somewhere in between. He'd go mad, otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>Without warning, without thinking it through, he retook his backward steps and placed his hands on Lana's waist, lifting her up and leaning down to press his lips to hers. Her response was immediate. Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, she opened her lips to deepen the kiss.</p><p> </p><p>He felt the press of her body against him—and nothing else. No rush of warmth, pumping blood, no driving need to continue pulling her closer, never let her go . . . In fact, all he felt was shame.</p><p> </p><p>As instinctively as he'd begun the kiss, he ended it, jerking away. Staring at Lana's startled eyes, he found himself unable to explain or answer the unspoken questions he saw there. It was wrong to kiss her, to play with her emotions but he had to know. He'd promised six months ago—to himself, to Lois, to his mother, to Chloe—that he was done with this. She'd left him. For seven years they'd tried to make a relationship work in some form or another, and it hadn't. The bottom line was that he didn't want to try again. There was nothing in the kiss, in their talk, to make him believe things would be any different this time around.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, am I interrupting?"</p><p> </p><p>Both spun around to the front door, where Oliver stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, obviously still dressed up for his day job.</p><p> </p><p>Recovering his composure, Clark straightened up and gave a half-smile. "Hey, Oliver. No, you're not interrupting anything."</p><p> </p><p>"All right." He stepped more fully inside, nodding a greeting to Lana. "We've intercepted another email from Lex. Still no sign of our doctor. The last time anyone saw him was in Denmark, but that was at least three weeks ago."</p><p> </p><p>"Any luck tracing the router?"<br/><br/>"Still jumping all over the place, but probably in Eastern Europe. I've sent Bart over there to check it out."</p><p> </p><p>"Have you managed to find any of Groll's files?" Lana stepped in to ask.</p><p> </p><p>"Not yet. We—"</p><p> </p><p>Oliver gave Clark and Lana apologetic glances as his phone interrupted with a jolly rendition of "Holding Out for a Hero.” Answering, he turned to his back to the two, though he wasn't sure what good it was going to do given Clark's ability to eavesdrop from across the country, much less a single room.</p><p> </p><p>"Oliver Queen."</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course. Is everything okay?"</p><p> </p><p>Clark resisted the sudden urge to tune into the other half of the conversation. There were few people his friend spoke to with such affection, and if his gut was right, Oliver just received the phone call Clark had been waiting weeks for. A call that would let him know Lois was alive, how Jimmy was, when she was coming home, if she'd gotten his messages . . .</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, just give me a few hours, and I'll be there."</p><p> </p><p>"Who's staying with Jimmy?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure, you know it's no problem. See you soon. I'll give you a call when I land." He flipped the phone shut and faced the other two with a tense smile. "That was Lois. Looks like I'll be picking her up from Star City later today."</p><p> </p><p>Clark leaned forward. "She's coming home?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, apparently Jimmy's mother finally showed up to stay with him and Lois is anxious to see Chloe." Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets, looking back and forth between Clark and Lana and feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He had a pretty good idea why Lois hadn't called Clark and if the tightened jaw was any indication, his friend didn't like the sudden distance from his partner. It was about time Clark caught on to his own feelings but with Lana back in town, the awkward factor skyrocketed.</p><p> </p><p>"Just in time for Christmas." Lana said, smiling. She twisted in her seat to face Clark. "Is Mrs. Kent coming home?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, no, not this year." He couldn't get past the fact that Lois hadn't called him. Wasn't it only a few months ago when his number had been the one she'd dialed when her psychotic date/story tried to kill her? Not that he could charter his private plane to pick her up, but keeping in touch wasn't expecting much. Hell, before the wedding, he and Lois had been seeing more of each other than they did when she lived on the farm.</p><p> </p><p>They were friends, right? And maybe—he recalled the questioning on her face as she looked up at him, eyes wide, their faces drawing closer, her breath warm on his lips—maybe they were something more, too.</p><p> </p><p>Watching Oliver lean against the edge of the kitchen table, Clark wondered for the first time just how often he and Lois had been in contact since she left.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>6:30 p.m.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>22 December </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Her apartment was exactly as she'd left it, in shambles, filing boxes filled with her nicknacks lining the walls and stacked on the table reaching higher than her head. After two weeks living in Ollie's unused apartment, with clothes bought on sale at discount stores and nothing to occupy her days save a comatose Jimmy Olsen, unpacking and moving in wasn't on her list of things to do. What she wanted was a shower, a good night's sleep, a cup of coffee from the cafe by the Planet that could actually get her order right, and to see her cousin in the hospital, and not necessarily in that order. If she avoided a certain farm-boy, all the better. It was the Christmas season, right? Someone up there owed her that much.</p><p> </p><p>She'd left the hospital after the wedding with the knowledge that somewhere along the way, she'd had gotten lost. There was a girl she'd promised herself never to be, a stereotype that invited weakness and vulnerability, and there she was playing the part as if scripted.</p><p> </p><p>Lois Lane knew better than to fall for Clark Kent. How many girls had she watched come and go from his life, infatuated or worse, battling for what pieces of his attention they could manage to snatch? Lana Lang held his heart and his focus, that was a given, and everyone else became nothing more than a casualty of war. She'd sworn—maybe not when she'd first met him but shortly thereafter—never to get involved with him. Never get attached, because inevitably the drama reverted back to its key players: Clark and Lana.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone else was understudy or cut from the line-up. And she spent too many years watching Chloe pine away in that role; re-runs weren't her style. Neither was pining.</p><p> </p><p>She was done with these feelings.</p><p> </p><p>Getting out of Metropolis, away from Smallville's influence (and she wasn't sure if that meant the town or the man) had been exactly what she needed. What Chloe had needed at the time was someone to be with her husband while he fought for his life. She wouldn't deny the selfish reasons for leaving but at least she could honestly say she hadn't run away. The farm boy didn't chase her out of town. Whatever insanity caused her heart to race with a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders, made her think for a few exhilarating moments that someone like him might need her—well, she'd get over it. Like a bad hangover. It had to be endured until it faded.</p><p> </p><p>But now she had more important things to focus on: getting back to work and making sure Chloe fully recovered from this mess. Chloe'd been kidnapped, and though every gut instinct she possessed had screamed to <em>find her!</em>, there had been the knowledge that if she did find Chloe, alive and well, and let Jimmy die alone in a strange city, she'd never be able to look her cousin in the eye again. Chloe loved this bumbling cameraman and that made him family. If there was anything at all she could do for Jimmy, well, she would. Because she'd already failed Chloe once. Instead of saving her from all this, she'd been nursing a broken heart that she shouldn't have had in the first place. Her name might've only added to the long list of casualties but she wouldn't have felt so useless. Maybe if she'd been there to help, Jimmy would be okay. Maybe Chloe wouldn't have been kidnapped.</p><p> </p><p>But she hadn't been there. Chloe had been taken away by some mutant meteor freak with demonic aspirations and come back in a coma. That was why, with Jimmy taken care of, it was time to buckle down and get Chloe back on her feet. She wasn't about to let her cousin spend the rest of her life in a hospital bed, and whatever deal she had to make with the devil or God himself, she would.</p><p> </p><p>It was times like these she missed Martha Kent. Someone to hold her while she cried out a month's worth of frustration and failure. Someone to tell her it would be all right: Chloe and Jimmy would wake up to live their happily ever after, and someday, she'd find her own Jonathan who loved her more than anyone else. Who wasn't settling for second best because the love of his life had already left him.</p><p> </p><p>Because while she trusted Clark to save Chloe's life (and she'd been right to), she wasn't sure she'd ever trust him again with her heart. That didn't bode well for him being the One.</p><p> </p><p>He was sweet, and <em>god,</em> was he gorgeous, but he wasn't for her. (Lois hoped he wasn't meant for Lana, either, given the crap those two had put each other through—and Lana didn't deserve Clark anymore than she did.) The fairy-tale love Clark was destined for? She wasn't it. Guys like that didn't fall for girls like Lois, and they certainly didn't need girls who caused as much trouble as she tended to.</p><p> </p><p>And she didn't need the pity parties. There was a hospital chair next to Chloe's bed calling her name.</p><p> </p><p>A knock sounded at the door and she moved to answer it, dreading shooting from her fingers to settle in a cold lump in her stomach. The impending conversation was not going to be fun. Oliver had dropped her off and that left very few conscious people to visit her, and fewer still who knew she was in town. The thought crossed her mind to keep up the pretense and not answer, just as Clark's voice carried through the wood:</p><p> </p><p>"I know you're here, Lois. I can hear you pacing."</p><p> </p><p>She pulled open the door with a scowl. "Yeah, and I'm on my way out. No time to catch up. And I'm in desperate need of a good, long shower. But no worries, I'll be back at work tomorrow and you'll have plenty of time to annoy me then."</p><p> </p><p>It was harsh, she realized as his stricken expression took form. They teased and bantered but it worked because it was done with a smile and a wink, a sauntering step or a certain gleam in the eyes to soften any blow into a friendly tap. But she'd been scowling, words bitten out and body tense, and she hadn't meant to hurt him, it was just the sight of him setting the neurotic butterflies adrift in her belly pissed her off because she still remembered the look on his face when Lana had reappeared at the reception. And how badly the realization hurt that he wasn't ever going to get over her.</p><p> </p><p>She sighed, abruptly no longer willing to hide her weariness behind anger. "Sorry, Clark. I've had a really long day on top of a really long few weeks, I'm worried about Chloe, and I'm a bit testy."</p><p> </p><p>"It's okay. It's been a pretty rough month, huh?" He shoved his hands in his pant's pockets, smiling slightly though he still carried that look in his eyes like he was expecting her to start kicking him. "You never answered the phone, though, or called me back. I wanted to make sure everything was all right."</p><p> </p><p>He'd left a mountain unsaid in his hesitation. She knew that he knew it, and she knew that he knew that she knew it. Her supreme lack of judgement at the wedding (also known as their dance) was standing awkwardly between them like a third wheel.</p><p> </p><p>"Everything's fine," she finally said, deciding it was neutral enough. "I just—everything at the hospital was so chaotic, I kept forgetting to call you. But—thank you. You found Chloe and I can't—I can never begin to repay you for that."</p><p> </p><p>"You could start by spending Christmas at the farm with me."</p><p> </p><p>The invitation surprised him as much as her if the abrupt widening of his eyes was any indication. He immediately continued talking, before she had a chance to respond that she'd rather gouge her eyes out à la Oedipus than spend any time around the newly reunited star-crossed lovers, especially on Christmas.</p><p> </p><p>"Christmas Eve, actually. We used to always have our big Christmas dinner then and even though Mom's stuck in Washington this year, I thought—it's just, after everything that's happened, I'm reminded how important friends and family are. I thought we—you and me—could have a Kent Family Christmas ourselves. I know the General's out of the country and Lucy isn't likely coming home any time soon, although she could very well be, you just haven't mentioned anything—"</p><p> </p><p>"Ok."</p><p> </p><p>He was rambling with a flush dusted across his cheeks, looking every bit the adorable farm-boy he'd been before starting work at the Planet and dressing—acting—like a grown man. The matching warmth on her face pushed her to interrupt before she did something worse, like kiss him and find out how far down his blush spread.</p><p> </p><p>"Ok? You'll come? How about 7 o'clock? And we can watch the Grinch, too."</p><p> </p><p>"The live-action or cartoon?" she asked, eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>He grinned, suddenly, brightly, knowing the right answer. "Cartoon."</p><p> </p><p>Another butterfly fluttered its wings against her ribs (damn bugs) at the sight. Bringing her hands up to sit on her hips, she cleared her throat, pursing her lips in what she hoped was a smile. Though a part of her wanted to close the door and squeal (a very, very small, teeny-tiny part—Lois Lane didn't squeal), the majority was convinced the whole idea was insane. Alone with Clark on Christmas Eve for dinner and a movie? She couldn't be that stupid, could she?</p><p> </p><p>As she nodded her assent and he turned to go with a cheerful wave, she realized that yes, indeed, she could be exactly that stupid. But it was impossible to say no to his hopeful grin.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>12:00 p.m.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>23 December</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He looked up when Lois sat herself on the edge of his desk, the automatic crossing of her legs causing the once-knee-length skirt to ride half-way up her thighs. His eyes continued on, following the line of her legs until it disappeared into her skirt; it took every ounce of his willpower not to trace further. What had possessed her to sit on his desk, wearing that, and presenting her long, smooth legs right in front of his face? He couldn't complain, really, not with that view, but it was going to make paying attention to what she had to say difficult.</p><p> </p><p>Something struck his forehead, and he reached up instinctively to catch the pen that bounced into his lap. "Er, yes, Lois?"</p><p> </p><p>"Did you hear a word I just said?"</p><p> </p><p>A blush heated his cheeks; he cursed his heritage for leaving him that particular vulnerability. Smiling sheepishly (she never did stay mad at him when he did that), he shrugged, "Sorry."</p><p>She rolled her eyes, waving a hand in his direction. "Figures. I should've known you'd be back to that. But brood on your own time, Smallville, we've got work to do. Tess wants us to cover a hostage situation at the courthouse."</p><p> </p><p>"Wait,"He straightened in his seat, tearing his eyes away from those legs that kept shifting and the skirt that kept riding up ever further. "I wasn't brooding. Why would I be brooding?"</p><p>"Because your Achilles' heel is back in town?" she said, eyebrow quirked. From the tone of her voice—sarcasm as thick as he'd ever heard it—it was obvious she thought the answer a given.</p><p> </p><p>"My Achilles' heel?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, you know, the one small weakness that should've been insignificant but ended up bringing down the greatest of all Greek heroes?"</p><p> </p><p>He glared. "Yes, Lois, I know what it means. And I assume you're referring to Lana? But despite what you might think, we're not back together. She's leaving again after the holidays."</p><p> </p><p>"And if she weren't, she'd already be moved back in at the farm." Lois stated, patting him on the knee as she hopped to her feet. "But we'll have to deal with your heartache later. Right now we have a story to catch."</p><p> </p><p>"Wait a minute," he jumped up, using his longer strides to catch her, "Lois! I'm not upset over Lana! And no matter what, we would not be getting back together."</p><p> </p><p>He hadn't been sure, not until that exact moment. But the sight of Lois walking away—again—and the words had come out, truer than he'd ever thought they could be. The words had been spoken, meant, and suddenly, irrevocably, he knew that for real this time, for forever, he and Lana were through. He <em>wanted </em>them to be.</p><p> </p><p>Mid-stride, only a step from Lois, he halted as the thought not only crossed his mind but sank in.</p><p> </p><p>It was true.</p><p> </p><p>And he—he could breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Relief surged through him from head to toe, loosening every tense muscle. The weight of the world on his shoulders becoming a more bearable burden. Because he was free. Lois was in front of him, looking half-pissed and half-concerned with one hand on her hip and head cocked to the side, eyebrows lifted in question at his abrupt stop. He was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, Smallville?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's over between me and Lana. Really and truly over." He could see a noticeable softening of her expression as a small, contented smile smoothed out of her scowl. "And all I feel is relieved."</p><p> </p><p>"I guess you weren't kidding, were you?" She moved forward until she stood just under his chin. Her perfume caressing his senses, faint as it was, reminding him of honeysuckle and gardenia. Like the farm in the first few weeks of spring.</p><p> </p><p>One hand reached out to take his, so tiny in comparison. Her fingers twined with his, squeezing gently, her eyes taking his in their gaze. "I'm proud of you, Clark. It's not easy, letting go, but it's worth it. It really is. And someday, when you find that elusive soulmate of yours, all this will have been worth it."</p><p> </p><p>She was gazing up at him again like she had at the wedding: open and affectionate, so completely Lois just—without all the barriers. There was a glow to her cheeks, her eyes, and he wanted to be the cause of it.</p><p> </p><p>But as quickly as she'd approached him, she backed away. With a roll of her eyes and shrug of her shoulders—that sideways grin thrown in for good measure—she brushed off the moment forming between them and continued, "But what do I know? My track record is worse than yours."</p><p> </p><p>She immediately swung herself around, stalking over to the elevators and slapping her hand on the button. "Don't forget your recorder, Kent."</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>"So apparently these guys burst in at 8 am, waving guns and threatening to shoot whoevertried to escape or fight back. The police have the building surrounded, and they'll be sending in a negotiator shortly. I wanna be the first reporter to know what these guys are demanding."</p><p> </p><p>"How are you going to manage that? More feminine charm?" he asked, glancing her over. Her jacket pulled tight at the waist, accentuating the curves of her body and her legs were displayed to mid-thigh with a slit on each side of the skirt. He had no doubt any red-blooded male would give in to her persuasions if that was the route she chose. He wasn't sure he could stand by and watch, though. It was bad enough Brad Channery from Travel kept checking her out at the office, 'accidentally' brushing against her when he prepared his coffee and always taking the long way to his desk that passed right by hers.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn't that he didn't want her to find a guy and be happy, he just wanted it to be the right guy (him), and he wanted to put the fear of God into him first. No one was going to treat her poorly as long as he was around, and the guys who whistled or hooted at her made him want to abandon his gentlemanly upbringing and beat them til they apologized and realized she was too good for them. She was more than just a body, damn it, much more—she was brilliant, she was witty, she was passionate, protective, loyal, tougher than anyone, and gorgeous, yes, but inside too, and that was more important.</p><p> </p><p>"Not quite." She gave him a pitying glance. "I've got a contact in the force; he's willing to get me in close by the tape and fill me in as soon as he gets some information."</p><p> </p><p>"How do you know this contact?" he asked before he could stop himself. That seemed to be happening a lot around her lately.</p><p> </p><p>"Met him when I was at Met U."</p><p> </p><p>"You mean the few months you actually attended?"</p><p> </p><p>She glared at him, then shrugged and went to shake hands with a tall brunette man standing beside a patrol car. "Jake! Hey, so whatcha got for me?"</p><p>"Not much. The negotiator's just gone in, but apparently they're refusing to compromise until this Red and Blue Blur comes forward." The officer—Jake—smiled at Lois, giving Clark an inscrutable glance and eyeing him up and down. "We're thinking that was their whole point behind the hostages: to draw out this guy, whoever he is. But don't you dare quote me on that, Lane."</p><p> </p><p>"What do they want with the Blur? And how do they think you're going to contact him? What do they expect him to do? Why would they want to out him?"</p><p> </p><p>Lois rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder for good measure. "Because, Clark, the whole city wants to know more about this Superdude. And he seems to know when there's trouble, even something as small as a mugging, so he'd probably hear about this, too. I'm sure there are a lot of people who aren't too thrilled with having a superpowered vigilante living anonymously in their midst. There's always someone who takes issue with other people doing good."</p><p> </p><p>"So what happens if this Blur reveals himself?"</p><p>Pursing her lips, Lois grabbed Clark's arm, tugging him to the other side of the street.</p><p> </p><p>"Gotta run, Jake, keep me up to date!" she hollered back as she dragged him away.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Once safely across the street, where the crowds were thinner, she put her hands on her hips and looked him dead in the eye. "Nothing good. The moment Superdude gives into a demand like this, he becomes vulnerable to every nutjob in the world who wants something from him. This is what we have police for. If the Red and Blue Blur wants to help out here, he can get those guns out of those guys' hands."</p><p> </p><p>"But it's his fault that this is happening."</p><p> </p><p>"No, it's not. The only ones at fault are the guys holding the guns." She was looking at him like he should've realized that already, and he saw something in her gaze, in her expression, that he couldn't name. There was something she was trying to tell him and he couldn't seem to put it together.</p><p> </p><p>Jake interrupted, jogging up beside Lois and slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, Lane, no new developments yet, but I was hoping I could persuade you to go out with me for coffee after you get off work. What d'you say?"</p><p> </p><p>"I say you're pushing your luck,” she said, tempered with a smile. “I've already got plans, thanks. Stick to what you're good at: giving me information ahead of everyone else."</p><p> </p><p>Despite her rejection, she hadn't shrugged out of his casual embrace and Clark found his blood boiling without the influence of kryptonite. The guy was trying way too hard, and who did he think he was, asking Lois out? He barely knew her! What gave him the right to touch her like that? They'd been having a private conversation—one Clark was anxious to continue—before the officer stepped in without so much as an apology for the intrusion.</p><p> </p><p>He was dying to know what Lois had to say about the 'Blur'. She'd said she was a fan, and determined to get an exclusive interview, but did that mean she approved? Did she really believe that he should let this hostage situation be resolved by the police and not reveal himself to save everyone? Would she support his continuing to play anonymous hero even though there were people willing to go to such lengths to stop him?</p><p> </p><p>His fingers twitched when Lois bit her pen, smiling up at Jake from beneath her lashes and bantering back and forth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard her pestering for more information, knew the conversation was work related, and still it took all he had not to sock the guy in the face. Lois wouldn't appreciate it; she'd only hit him in return. But bantering, flirting, that was <em>their</em> thing!</p><p> </p><p>It was bad enough he couldn't figure out his feelings for her, did he have to be constantly reminded how attractive she was? The clock was ticking if he wanted make a move, he knew, with every new guy that tried to get her attention. The world—and Lois—wasn't about to wait on his decision.</p><p> </p><p>Not that he could actually seem to make a decision. Everything he'd been doing, saying, around Lois lately had been without his conscious permission. Like instinct, reacting to her without forethought. It was a new experience given a lifetime of thrice-thinking every choice or spoken word.</p><p> </p><p>What he knew was that he didn't like seeing her with another guy. He wanted to kiss her—wished he had at the wedding—and sometimes he couldn't breathe just because she was near. Those weeks without her had been empty, going through the motions but missing <em>something</em> vital. Every time he had to say goodbye to her it was all he could do not to count down the minutes until he saw her again. He knew what those signs meant; he'd had them with Lana way back in high school, albeit less extreme. In fact, his feelings for Lana felt tame in comparison, and hadn't he thought of her as his soulmate? Hadn't he loved her? If he was right—if these feelings for Lois were what he thought, feared, them to be, how could he begin to put them into words or concepts? Was there any way to describe something that so completely surpassed his previous definition of love?</p><p> </p><p>What was different with Lois, what he couldn't place, was the desire to pester her until she gave him that look, the one where her lips cocked to the side just a touch and her eyes flared and if he wasn't careful, would make him dart forward to capture that passion, that fire, with his own lips. The thrill he got when his come-backs beat hers, or when he tripped her up in an argument. How sometimes he couldn't imagine anything better than strangling her, or at least knocking some since into her reckless head, and how on the nights where they ordered Chinese take-out and holed up on the couch in front of a Die-Hard movie marathon he couldn't possibly think of anywhere else he'd rather be.</p><p> </p><p>But Lana was right: he had a responsibility. Even if he needed not to be alone, it was unfair to ask Lois—or anyone—to share him with the world. He'd held Lois when it didn't work with Oliver because he would always be leaving her behind; he couldn't see how a life with him could be any different. And Oliver didn't even have the alien factor to complicate everything.</p><p> </p><p>There was this huge, life-altering secret of his that interfered with every relationship he'd ever had, and he could either make the choice now to tell her or not. And while he trusted her more than anyone else save his mother, the question came down to whether or not she'd be better off not knowing.</p><p> </p><p>Watching her turn away from Jake with a slight huff and roll of her eyes, he knew that no matter what he decided, he couldn't lose her from his life.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>7:00 p.m.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>23 December</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Clark was mucking out the barn when Lana appeared in the doorway. Standing back-lit by the dying sun, hands clasped in front of her waist, she seemed like the same girl next door he'd always loved, smiling softly up at him. He stopped what he was doing and wiped his hands on a towel before approaching her.</p><p> </p><p>"Lana."</p><p>"Hey, Clark. I was hoping to find you here. I thought we could talk." Bangs casting shadows across her face, she smiled, and he wondered what changed that his heart no longer skipped a beat. There was a time in his life when he'd have done anything, given anything, to have Lana back in his life. Now that she was, he couldn't say he was happy. It had been nice to see her, to remember all that they'd been through together, all the hopes and dreams of a future he used to have for them. Spending time with her the past few weeks, hearing where she'd been for the past few months, watching her interact with Oliver, with Chloe, with him, all with her guard up and a shield of secrets over her eyes—he couldn't help but wonder what happened to the sweet, innocent girl he'd admired from afar. Back then she'd been the symbol of everything light and good in his world, everything right.</p><p> </p><p>He looked at her now and all he saw was the video of her leaving him behind. She spoke of moving on and being happy with who she'd become but kept him in the dark about what really mattered; he remembered when he'd been the one with secrets to keep.</p><p> </p><p>. . .<em> realize that you broke up for a reason. . .</em></p><p> </p><p>"Sure. Is there something you need? Have you found anymore leads on Dr. Groll?"</p><p> </p><p>Casting her eyes downward, she shook her head and smiled. "No, not about that. I was actually hoping we could spend Christmas together. Since Mrs. Kent won't be home. I could make us Christmas dinner, and we can catch up. As friends. Maybe watch a holiday movie or two."</p><p> </p><p>It took him a moment to find words—any words. "What about your Aunt Nell?"</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't really want to answer her questions of where I've been the past few months." Lana explained, shrugging. "So what d'you say?"</p><p> </p><p>I already have plans with Lois, he wanted to explain. Instead he stood, somewhat bemused, brows half-furrowed, trying to figure out what it was about her that bothered him now. Suddenly, a veil had been lifted. This was the girl who had left him behind when he needed her, who'd lied to him and married his ex-best friend, who'd appeared in his life as abruptly as she left it, tossing everything on its head and ruining whatever had been growing between him and Lois.</p><p> </p><p>Now she wanted to spend Christmas Eve with him, when he'd already planned a dinner with Lois. A dinner where he hoped to repair their relationship and reveal to her his true heritage; for the first time, willingly divulging that information to another person. Though Lana couldn't possibly be aware of that, it still—it pissed him off that every time he tried to make a move, to move on, to do something with his life or go in a certain direction, there was always something or someone who stood in his way.</p><p> </p><p>Unless he told her no, his plans this time would be put on hold.</p><p> </p><p>"I actually already have plans," he said before his conscience could take it back. It wasn't rude, after all, with only a day's notice to turn down the invitation. She was being unreasonable expecting him to not have plans just because they didn't include her. "With Lois."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't know." Light glistened on her pupils, her mouth in a rosy pout of displeasure. She shifted where she stood, obviously waiting.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe some other time, then." he said. She wanted something, he just didn't know what. And he no longer had to feel guilty for not figuring it out.</p><p> </p><p>Blinking, she nodded once and looked away, swallowing. With her hands in her back pockets, she smiled at the dirt. "I see. Well, I hope you have a merry Christmas. And of course, a Happy New Year."</p><p> </p><p>"You too."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It's that easy?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The answer was yes.</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>Let me know if I can help find anything on Groll."</p><p> </p><p>Just as she was climbing back into her SUV, she paused, meeting his eyes through the window. "I will. Just—don't forget your responsibility, Clark."</p><p> </p><p>Then she was gone.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>6:30 p.m.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Christmas Eve</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He'd thrown together Christmas at the last minute. During his search for Chloe and dealing with Lana's return, Lois' absence, Jimmy's coma, he'd evaded the subject of the approaching holiday. Without his mother and father, it never really felt like much of a big deal, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>But Lois was coming. His invitation had come out before he could think it through, based solely upon his desire to have her around. It was a time for family, and she was a part of that, regardless of whether or not their relationship progressed.</p><p> </p><p>The past few weeks without her, the past few months with her, had given him plenty to contemplate. She remained in the dark about his secret but the words Kara'd spoken had weighed on him ever since.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lois can handle it. She's tough. Strong. You wouldn't have let her get so close if you didn't think so too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He knew. He knew she could handle it. She was stronger than Chloe, stronger than Lana, Oliver, stronger, even, than him. The problem wasn't if she could handle it. It was if she'd want to. Somewhere down the road, if she ever resented him for the dangers in her life that came from knowing, he couldn't bear it.</p><p> </p><p>So he'd made the decision. Tonight, he would tell her the truth. Even if nothing more came of their relationship than good friends, even if she looked at him differently, he wanted her to know, and he wanted her to hear it from him. The only time in his life he'd ever told someone had been Lana, back before he changed time, and he'd done it for all the wrong reasons. His secret had been an obstacle to overcome; they couldn't be together otherwise. He had a goal and an ulterior motive for telling Lana.</p><p> </p><p>He would tell Lois because he wanted her to know him. All of him. The good, and the bad, and the dangerous. He wanted her to be a part of his life, friend or—he gulped, slightly, remembering the long lines of her exposed back, the lacy black bra peeking out and the two little dimples at the base of her spine—lover.</p><p> </p><p>Their relationship would exist regardless of whether or not he went through with it, and that made all the difference. Telling Lois wasn't a need; it was a want.</p><p> </p><p>Thirty minutes until she arrived. In the past twenty-four hours, the farm had undergone a transformation from the everyday to a more festive decor. Lights were strung up all around the porch, and inside each window sat a candle. Towering above the bookshelves in the living room was a proud Christmas tree he'd picked out that morning, aglow in multicolors, each branch weighed down with an ornament. He'd put candles and greenery as a centerpiece for the table, and hung three stockings on the mantle (Lois, Clark, and Shelby scrawled across the top of each respective stocking, red embroidery curtesy of his mom).</p><p> </p><p>A braised beef tenderloin was simmering in a pot of red wine, carrots roasting in the oven, and he'd fried peas with his mother's traditional recipe (olive oil, garlic, and chili peppers). Rolls were warming in the microwave, and two black bottom pies sat on the top shelf of the freezer. Normally he preferred cherry pie, but Lois didn't, and black bottoms were Christmas specialties.</p><p> </p><p>Her present was wrapped to the best of his ability, hiding under the tree. The whole farmhouse smelled of cinnamon and pine tree, giving exactly the atmosphere he wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Now he just needed Lois.</p><p> </p><p>At 7:05, when she hadn't yet shown up, he flipped open his phone to give her a call—he wouldn't let her back out. (She wouldn't, really, she'd said she'd be there and she would, but if he paced anymore the floorboards would give.)</p><p> </p><p>There was a missed call from Lois, and his stomach dropped.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, Smallville, just wanted to let you know I'm running a little late. Got held up at Ollie's, but I'll be there in about 15 minutes. See ya!"</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ollie's? What was she doing with Oliver? They'd kept in touch while she was in Star City, and he'd been the one to pick her up and bring her back to Metropolis, not to mention Clark was pretty certain she'd stayed at Oliver's apartment while she'd been gone.</p><p> </p><p>A nasty thought occurred to him—what if Oliver and Lois were getting back together?</p><p> </p><p>He'd felt a lot of things for Lois Lane over the years. In the past few months, those feelings had grown, exploded, exponentially despite his confusion and resistance. But his denial shattered the night in the hospital, as she walked away and he knew—the only thing he knew clearly, for certain, in the midst of tumultuous chaos—that he didn't want her to go. It was the strongest feeling he'd ever had in his life. A surge of emotion—desperation—that would've sent him barreling forward to hold her and never let go, if only he hadn't been so stunned by the revelation.</p><p> </p><p>Now he was jealous. A monster gnawing at his insides and threatening to claw up his esophagus, escaping from his mouth in the form of actions he couldn't ever take back.</p><p> </p><p>Had he lost her before he'd even had a chance to get her? Hadn't they—at the wedding, hadn't there been something between them? His memory might be making more of their dance than what had actually happened, but he knew, beyond doubt, that if Lana hadn't shown up, they'd have kissed.</p><p> </p><p>She had shown up, and he hadn't seen Lois again until the hospital, when she looked at him tearfully and walked away. In a handful of hours, had he lost all chance with her? He knew he'd turned away, hadn't even noticed her slipping out of the barn (and she must have to have avoided the carnage to come), got caught up in the shock of seeing his first love so suddenly, abruptly, when it was probably the last person he'd ever expected to see again.</p><p> </p><p>What he'd thought were feelings had sprung up at the sight of her. Only, now he knew better. Lois had been right, all those months ago when they'd talked about Oliver being poisoned. He hadn't looked at Lana and had his heart race, he'd seen her and remembered how his heart used to race and felt the adrenaline pump because he wasn't sure if it would still happen or not.</p><p> </p><p>Turned out the answer was not.</p><p> </p><p>And it might not even matter anymore, if Lois had spent her day with Oliver, if they were getting back together and he'd blown it.</p><p> </p><p>Placing his phone down on the table, he took a seat. The centerpiece was framed by candles; two places set with his mother's Christmas china, little painted trees in the base of the plates.</p><p> </p><p>It was every bit as romantic as he'd wanted, and he wondered if it'd scare her off. Or worse, she'd take one look at the house and shoot him down without hearing him out. She could do it gently by telling him she and Oliver were trying again, or she could be as callous as he probably deserved and roll her eyes with snarky comments and a cocky smirk.</p><p> </p><p>Would she even consider being with him once she knew the truth? Would she hate him for lying?</p><p> </p><p>The sound of wheels on gravel caught his ears, and he stood up, moving over to the window just in time to see the headlights of Lois' car.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as the Kent's front porch came into view, surrounded as usual by strings of multicolored lights. Through the window to the living room, she could make out the glitter of a tall tree and an equally tall figure stood outlined in the front doorway.</p><p> </p><p>She parked the car and reached over to the passenger's seat, picking up the box that held Clark's Christmas present. It had taken her a good two weeks to think of something, and it had been just before the wedding, when she was far more comfortable with their relationship.</p><p> </p><p>Still, she hoped he'd appreciate it.</p><p> </p><p>When she pushed open her car door, he was standing outside it, waiting to help her out. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she gave him the box, instead, telling him, "It's for you. Merry Christmas."</p><p> </p><p>"Er, thanks." He lead her inside and set his present under the tree, next to hers. "We can open them after dinner."</p><p> </p><p>"Did you cook?" She looked skeptical.</p><p> </p><p>"I did, actually. Better me than you."</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes narrowed. "I'll have you know my chocolate chip oatmeal cookies are to die for."</p><p> </p><p>"Literally?" His smile never wavered even as she punched him in the arm.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, let's see what you've got. Hopefully you learned something from years of watching your mom."</p><p> </p><p>She took her seat at the table, eyeing the tablecloth (Mrs. Kent's good linens), the fine china, and the elaborate greenery and candle centerpiece. The whole house smelled wonderful; someone had obviously put effort into this, and the only possible culprit was Clark.</p><p> </p><p>He was trying to make her feel better. This was a Lois-pity party, trying to let her down gently after her humiliating performance at the wedding (the memory of him reading Jimmy's vows was enough to make her cringe).</p><p> </p><p>"Here," He served her a steaming plate of beef, drizzled with a red wine sauce. Two buttery rolls sat on the rim of the plate, carrots and peas adding color. It looked like a feast.</p><p> </p><p>He even poured her a glass of wine.</p><p> </p><p>"Wow, Smallville. You really went all out."</p><p> </p><p>There was that adorable blush of his. "Yeah, well. I wanted this to be special."</p><p> </p><p>"It's just Christmas Eve."</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged, sitting down opposite her and meeting her eyes across the candle-light. The soft orange glow enhanced the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw, flickering in the blue of his eyes; she gulped. This had been a spectacularly stupid idea.</p><p> </p><p>"We have a lot to talk about," he finally answered.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p> </p><p>He nodded solemnly. "Yes. There's something I need to tell you, but I thought we'd eat first."</p><p> </p><p>A chill settled at the base of her spine, the tone of his voice too serious and the shaking in his hands around the stem of his silverware spoke of fear. She'd been right. This was his way of letting her down nicely, of rejecting her without making it seem like a rejection. Perfect.</p><p> </p><p>Only Smallville would chose to do this on Christmas Eve.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the meal passed in silence, more uncomfortable than it had ever been between them (even when he was naked and amnestic) but she couldn't find it within her to break in with conversation. Whatever he had to say, she wished he'd just say it. Bad enough he'd gone through all this trouble to make a romantic evening (and a fantastic meal! No wonder Lana couldn't let him go. Lois was tempted to tie him up and lock him away in her apartment as a permanent, live-in chef—but that thought led her down all sorts of other paths involving live-in duties that were so not appropriate).</p><p> </p><p>As he cleared the plates and brought out the dessert, he coughed a bit and started talking. "So how was it? I know it wasn't my mom's cooking. These are you favorite, right? Black bottom pies? You always begging Mom to make them, so I figured . . ."</p><p>"Yeah," she interrupted, "Thanks. They are my favorite."</p><p> </p><p>"Um, I guess now is as good a time as any to start, huh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Why not? Whatever it is, let's get it over with. Like a band-aid. The quicker, the easier."</p><p> </p><p>He hesitated, watching the tension in her shoulders and the visible walls in her eyes. He knew what she thought, and knew he'd acted incredibly stupid over the years to justify her belief. The look in her eyes at the wedding, vulnerable and—loving? Hopeful? He wanted that again, directed toward him, and that made telling her the truth harder. Every relationship he had changed when they discovered his secret. Mostly for the worse.</p><p> </p><p>If that happened with Lois—he couldn't contemplate that outcome.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm the Red-and-Blue Blur." Before she could respond, he hurried on, "I'm not human. I was the one who imitated the Green Arrow that night, that's how I threw those men across the alley and how I sped away. I came to Earth in the first meteor shower, and my parents found me—or I found them, as they tell it. I have these abilities and I thought you deserve, no, I <em>wanted</em> you to know the truth."</p><p> </p><p>She blinked rapidly, dropping her forkful of pie back on to the plate. Her mouth opened once, closed, then opened again as she found her voice, "I — actually, I knew that. Well, not that, exactly, I didn't know you weren't human, I figured a suped-up meteor freak—sorry, metahuman—but I knew you were the Blur. It was kinda obvious, Smallville, you pretty much live in red and blue. Then there's all the stuff you've done before, back when I lived here, you were always in the right place at the right time, or managed to beat highly improbable odds and, frankly, you're not the average farmboy. Not to mention the non-verbals—seriously. If you're gonna try and keep something that big quiet, try and make it seem a little less like you have this giant secret. If you have two twos, well, you can usually come up with four. But wow, an alien? <em>That </em>I wasn't expecting."</p><p> </p><p>Gaping at her, he struggled to process what she'd revealed. And here he'd thought she'd be the one surprised.</p><p> </p><p>But—she'd known? Why hadn't she said anything?</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, you knew? But—I don't understand. Why didn't you ever say anything?"<br/><br/>"I just did! And you know what," she jumped up, picking up her plate and his, walking backwards into the kitchen, "I think I'm going to make coffee. Cause I know I need some, and frankly, this kind of conversation can't be had without it. Do you want coffee?"</p><p> </p><p>He stood, shuffling his feet in an attempt to decide whether or not to follow her. "Um, sure."</p><p> </p><p>They stood side-by-side, waiting for the water to boil (Mrs. Kent used a French press), taking turns glancing at the other out of the corner of their eyes. Lois' right foot was tapping the floor 300 times each minute, give or take (he'd counted).</p><p> </p><p>As soon as the water was heated, he leapt forward, snatching it off the counter and pouring in the press with the coffee grounds. Without a word, Lois grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and moved into the living room, obviously expecting him to follow.</p><p> </p><p>"So tell me more about this alien thing. Where you came from, why you're here, why you have these abilities (does everyone from your world?), if you're going home . . . That sort of thing." she said, tossing the words over her shoulder. Her heart beat at record pace, belying her nonchalant demeanor. It made him feel better to hear it; at least he wasn't the only nervous one.</p><p> </p><p>He started at the beginning. Told her everything he could think of, probably in a rambling monologue, but once he got going, it was hard to stop. He wanted her to know everything. All the carefully planned speeches had gone out the window in the face of her own revelation, and now all he could do was think<em> I want her to know. Everything there is to know. All about me, all about what I can do. I want her to be the one I turn to when something happens, when I need help and advice.</em></p><p> </p><p>She'd finished her first cup of coffee and moved on to the second before she decided to speak. Though he'd been expecting interruptions galore, it wasn't until he finished that she finally set down her mug.</p><p> </p><p>With a smile, she reached over and punched him in the arm, light enough not to hurt herself. "Always did have you pegged for the hero-type."</p><p> </p><p>He knew she was teasing, and still the remark made him flinch, even if the punch didn't. Disappointing her was the last thing he wanted to do. He was sick of disappointing people; they all expected him to save the world, and most of the time, he couldn't even save the ones he loved.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm—not a hero," he said, trying to explain so that she'd understand. "I have a responsibility to use my abilities to help people. To be this Red and Blue Blur, Good Samaritan, whatever. So that's what I've been doing. But I'm not—I'm not this hero that Oliver and Lana and everyone keep talking about. I'm not some ‘superdude’—I'm just me."</p><p> </p><p>Lois tilted her head at him silently, picking up her mug and gazing at him over its rim. Blowing softly to cool the coffee, she cleared her throat once before speaking. "<em>Everyone</em> has a responsibility to be a good person, to help those in need. The problem is most people don't <em>want</em> to. What makes you who you are, what makes you a hero—a superman—isn't your abilities. It's the fact that even if you were normal, you'd help. Because you want to. Because you couldn't bear to do any different. You can't expect—no one can expect you to save everyone, or fix the world but the fact that you try, that you would if you could, means everything."</p><p> </p><p>It took him a good minute to remember to breathe. And when he did, breath came with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>"How do you do that?" He grinned at her, eyebrows furrowing in lighthearted curiosity. "Something that weighs on me for years, and you can make it simple with a few words."</p><p> </p><p>She shrugged, the smile spreading across her lips before she could stop it. "It's a gift."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," he said just to say something, feeling like every moment he sat there he fell deeper and deeper—into her eyes, in love—and he'd never get back out. He'd seen her smile a thousand times, but it never got old; every time she did he felt honestly like the hero everyone called him and not like a fraud. He'd grown up surrounded by beautiful girls,— Lana, Chloe, Alicia—and not one of them compared to her. No one had stood by him as steadfastly, without asking questions, as she had.</p><p> </p><p>Praying to God he wasn't too late, he reached forward, every instant watching her eyes for disapproval, his fingertips brushing the side of her jaw. He hoped to spend the rest of his life looking at her this way, the tilt of her head into his hand.</p><p> </p><p>There were no more fears to swallow; acceptance, confidence and the absolute knowledge that this was <em>right</em> drove him to lean down, breathing in just before he took her lips in his.</p><p> </p><p>He'd kissed her before; this was nothing like those. She responded slowly, the soft brushing of their lips giving way to more as he nibbled at her bottom lip, begging entrance. Passion had never been what they lacked. Her arms wound their way around his neck, fingers trailing up and down his spine, into his hair, tracing his shoulder blades. He couldn't keep track of where his hands were other than somewhere on her body, soft and pliant and hot—her skin was burning, or was it his?</p><p> </p><p>She melted back into the couch, pulling him down on top of her. A zing of pleasure shot straight from chest to groin, and he pressed his hips against hers, feverishly trying to get closer and keep her there, beneath him. It had been so long, and it felt so much better than anything he'd ever experienced.</p><p> </p><p>Tearing his lips away, he pressed them into her neck, the crook just behind her ear, tracing his way across her jaw with nips and flicks of his tongue, back to her mouth where he swallowed a moan.</p><p> </p><p>"God, Lois," he breathed, pulling his lips away to glance at her eyes, taking in the vision of her pinned beneath him, brunette curls pillowing her head and spreading down across the couch. His breath got caught in his chest. The grin on his face stretched as he leaned back down, capturing her lips in his teeth, coaxing response with his tongue. Who needed breath, anyway?</p><p> </p><p>One of her legs came up, sliding along his thigh and sending the rest of his blood south. Her leg wrapped itself around his hips, her muscles tensing, holding him in place. Blood pounded, bodies shifting in their search for more, always more and never enough. She arched toward him and he met her halfway, pushing them further into the cushions, nudging her legs apart with his knee and forcing his thigh between them to rub against her.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn't think beyond the points where his body met hers.</p><p> </p><p>With a grunt, Lois pushed his shoulder up just enough to pry off first one of his sleeves then the other, barely pulling her lips away to yank it over his head and immediately tugging him back. Somehow her shirt had disappeared (he'd find it in pieces the next day).The touch of his bare chest against her skin, warm and smooth, sent his head spinning, and somehow her bra found its way to the floor. Tentative fingers trailed lines up and down the curves of her breasts, drawing closer and closer to but not quite touching the rosy nipples already peaking.</p><p> </p><p>Her hips surged up against his, the warm 'v' of her jeans cradling his erection. A moan spilled from her lips, his name a breathy whisper, and he resisted the urge to rip off her jeans, taking her there and then.</p><p> </p><p>This hadn't been his intention in the slightest, but he couldn't find it within him to care, not when his hands were filled with the softness of her breasts and he was harder than he'd ever been in his life. It was Lois Lane writhing underneath him (driving him mad) and her lips that caressed their way down his neck, lightly sucking at the pulse point. His hips jerked in response, and she smiled against his skin, leaving a gentle kiss where she'd just been tormenting him.</p><p> </p><p>"Do that again and this will be over a lot quicker," he whispered into the canopy of her hair that fell over one ear.</p><p> </p><p>Her laughter shook her whole body, thighs rubbing up and down his cock with delicious friction. "If you can't stand the heat, Smallville, . . ."</p><p> </p><p>"I'll show you heat," he growled and dove for her lips, letting his hands trail up from her thighs to cup her bottom and press her closer. Her hands slipped down in retaliation, grasping the buckle of his jeans, flicking them open with the twist of her wrist and a smirk. He matched her; one hand circled her hip and undid her pants, sliding between the fabric of her underwear and her skin, kneading the flesh of her ass.</p><p> </p><p>His jeans hit the floor with an audible thump, and her hands felt their way around the elastic band of his boxers, one fingernail dragging across the skin and the resulting shivers made his cock twitch. He buried his head in her neck and moaned, his free hand squeezed her breast, unable to let go and unable to stop his thumb from sweeping back and forth atop the tightened nipple. His head was spinning, and they were moving so quickly, and though he hated himself for it, he couldn't stop the words from escaping because he knew that if he didn't, she'd end up hating him.</p><p> </p><p>"What are we doing?" he whispered, lips brushing against her throat and feeling the heavy swallow as she spoke.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought that was obvious," she said, breathing heavily. Her hand slipped down, wrapping delicate fingers around his cock to emphasis her point.</p><p> </p><p>"You know what I mean. Are you going to regret this in the morning?"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you?"</p><p> </p><p>He jerked his hips against her palm. "No, Lois. I most definitely won't. But this isn't—I don't—this won't be just sex for me. I want more." It was impossible to think with her scent all around him and their hearts pounding in his ears, her hand on the most sensitive part of him, starting a slow, agonizing slid up and down. Her other hand gripped his hip, holding him in place against her.</p><p> </p><p>"Like what? A blowjob?" The sarcasm was thick.</p><p> </p><p>With considerable effort, he rolled off of her, getting to his feet and glaring down at the vision she presented on the couch: hair disheveled, naked from the waist up and jeans hanging off her hips, the top of her panties showing.</p><p> </p><p>She sat up, quirking an eyebrow. She didn't bother trying to hide her breasts, just leaned forward with her hands on her knees.</p><p> </p><p>"No, Lois. Like a relationship. Like love."</p><p> </p><p>The disbelieving laugh that broke from her throat shook him. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that.</p><p> </p><p>Licking her lips, she shook her head, turning her head toward the kitchen and avoiding his eyes. "You just ended your relationship with Lana and you want to start something with me? That's just perfect. It doesn't work that way, Clark. I don't want to be a rebound, and I don't want to be second best. Just because Lana can't deal with your being a bit terresterally challenged doesn't mean you turn to the next available person."</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to rant and scream, curse the day he'd ever met Lana if only for ruining this with Lois before it could even begin. Instead he knelt before her, placing one hand on top of each of hers. Imploring her to look at him. "My relationship with Lana ended years ago; I was just too stupid to see it sooner. I respect you too much, care about you too much, to ever use you as a rebound. I know you; I've known you for years and the past few months working with you? Have been some of the best times of my life.</p><p> </p><p>"I never got the chance to answer the question that day with the jeweler. You said that it was a good thing you'd been on the spot and not me, because I can't lie. 'Who knows where we'd be if you'd answered that question?' you asked me that, remember? But the thing is? The same thing would've happened if I'd answered. I'd have said yes, the sensor still on my finger, and you wouldn't have been electrocuted.</p><p> </p><p>"I love you, Lois. That's why I told you the truth tonight. I've never done that with anyone, not voluntarily. Not because I wanted to. Even if-even if you don't feel the same, I trust you. And as for being second best?" he scoffed, blowing the air out his nose, "I don't think that's even possible for you. Not in any context. It doesn't matter whether or not Lana can deal with being with me. <em>I </em>can't be with <em>her.</em> I don't want to be, and—" he trailed off, unsure how to explain the feelings overwhelming him. If he failed now, if he lost her now—</p><p> </p><p>She leapt to her feet, placing one hand on either side of his face and dragging him down into a fierce kiss. His response was immediate, grabbing her around the waist, tucking her against his body. As long as she didn't let go, he wouldn't either, not again.</p><p> </p><p>His hands didn't waste any time finding their way back to the top of her pants, pulling the waistband away from her skin and forcing it down until gravity took over and the pants fell in a pile on her feet. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her off the ground, her feet kicking free. She wrapped her legs around him, her center hot against his crotch. Some instinct directed his feet toward the stairs—it certainly wasn't his mind.</p><p> </p><p>"Lois," he spoke, each word in between another kiss, "I'll superspeed us upstairs. Hold on tight."</p><p> </p><p>Letting go of his lips with an audible smack, she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "Just because you <em>can, </em>doesn't mean you should. Some things are just better done slowly."</p><p> </p><p>He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. There was a very insistent part of him that didn't want to wait. "Walking up the stairs?"</p><p> </p><p>"Trust me, Smallville," she winked, rolling her hips against his, once, "Think of it as an adventure."</p><p> </p><p>It turned out to be. While he was occupied with maneuvering them up the stairs, Lois had taken it upon herself to make his task as difficult as possible. Her lips and tongue worked some sort of magic on his neck, making the world spin and causing him to seriously contemplate whether she'd be offended if he turned slightly, pinned her to the wall, and took her right there.</p><p> </p><p>His hands tugged at her panties, two coarsely ripped pieces of lace falling from between them.</p><p> </p><p>"Impatient?" she teased, squirming in his grasp, legs holding tighter to his hips.</p><p> </p><p>"You have no idea." Without breaking stride, he began trailing open-mouth kisses down the column of her throat, across her collarbone, his one hand firmly on her ass keeping her in place and the other brushing the tips of his fingers along the dips and curves of her toned abdomen and the points of her hipbones. If he was going to be driven mad by her, he was damn well taking her with him!</p><p> </p><p>As he reached the top of the stairs, his lips made their way down the valley of her breasts, hands lifting her up effortlessly so all he had to do was lean forward to capture on of her pert nipples in his mouth. Gently closing his teeth around the bud, he flit his tongue back and forth across it, one hand sliding up her back to hold her in place when she arched away, a small, nearly inaudible whimper escaping her. The sound went straight to his cock, and before he knew what was happening, he'd slammed her back into the wall, driving his throbbing erection into the warm wetness of her naked crotch. All that kept him from being inside her was the thin cotton of his boxers.</p><p> </p><p>Her fingers pried the waistband of his boxers from his skin, working their way around to get the fabric to fall even as she pressed herself fully against him and took his lips. Their tongues dueled, every part of them fighting to get closer first.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the tip of his cock slid against her opening, and his heart stopped. Not even able to marvel at how she'd gotten his boxers off without his noticing every instant of the act, the one thing in his mind was the single thrust it would take to bury himself inside her at last.</p><p> </p><p>"What happened to slow being better?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck slow." Grabbing the back of his head in both hands, she yanked him down, tearing into his mouth and angling her hips so with one smooth motion, his cock slid home. They both groaned at the sensations, the heat between them escalating.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes met hers. Slowly, almost unable to believe it was real, he pulled out—not enough to lose her delicious warmth, but enough to create the friction they both craved. Her eyelids fluttered as he moved, and if he weren't superhuman, he wasn't sure he'd be capable of holding her up with all that his legs trembled. The world narrowed to the feeling of her wet channel and the slick, sliding heat that enveloped him, threatening to never let go.</p><p> </p><p>"Harder, I won't break," she breathed in his ear, "We can do slow and gentle next time." Her hands tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, pulling it back enough to make way for her teeth nibbling on the tender flesh beneath it.</p><p> </p><p>The promise of more set his ears ringing, his blood already pounding throughout his veins. Pressing her tighter against the wall behind her, he removed his hands from where they'd been supporting her weight and reached for her wrists, jerking them free of his hair and pinning them back level with her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Then he angled his cock at her opening once more, driving inside to the hilt, his pelvic bone joining with hers. Again and again, as hard as he dared, knowing he wouldn't hurt her—could never hurt her. She threw her head back, giving him perfect access to her breasts. He promptly took one in his mouth, dragging his teeth down one reddened nipple, then the other.</p><p> </p><p>Moans began to escape from her lips, a steady, heavy pant that had him determined to make her scream. With her hands immobilized, she squirmed and wriggled with each thrust, taking him deeper, harder, anything to keep hitting just—that—spot.</p><p> </p><p>He felt his balls tightening. If he could get her there first—</p><p> </p><p>Slanting his thrusts upwards just a touch, his pelvic bone skimmed across her clit—lightly, then with more and more force as each plunge got more desperate.</p><p> </p><p>Her muscles clenched around him, pulling and releasing as her back arched off the wall and her arms strained against his hold. She cried out, heels digging into his ass. The last of his resolve buckled, pounding into her twice more before he felt himself fall, stars exploding in the back of his head.</p><p> </p><p>When he regained his senses, she was slouched against the wall, one leg dropped down to balance her on her tip-toes as his own knees were shaking.</p><p> </p><p>"In case it wasn't obvious," she said, still catching her breath, "I love you, too."</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Hours later, laying in his bed, Lois lay her head on the pillow beside him, curled at his side with one leg tangled with his own.</p><p> </p><p>"You never opened your present."</p><p><br/>Letting out a breathy grin, he turned his head on the pillow and looked her over. "You mean that wasn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>She laughed, leaning over him with one hand braced on the other side of his head. Placing a soft kiss on his lips, she shook her head. "Nope. Did you miss the wrapped box I handed you earlier?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mmm, must have. What's in it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Won't that ruin the surprise?"<br/><br/>He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I've got everything I need right here." His arms wrapped around her, pressing her down onto his chest and nuzzling his nose against the top of her head. "I'll tell you what your present is."</p><p> </p><p>"All right, you first."</p><p> </p><p>"I asked first."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm older."</p><p> </p><p>"By seven months!"</p><p> </p><p>"It counts!"</p><p> </p><p>"Lois!" He broke off laughing. "All right, fine. I got you one of those high-tech digital voice recorders that fit inside a hairclip. Figured it'd come in handy, and this way, the bad guys are less likely to find you taping their conversations and try to kill you for it."</p><p> </p><p>She grinned. "Thanks, Smallville. I actually need that. All you got was a pair of Metropolis Sharks playoff tickets. I wanted to get Superbowl, but I figured this was a safer bet given their track record in the postseason."</p><p> </p><p>"And who did you think I'd be taking with me to this game?" he asked, cocking his head at her.</p><p> </p><p>"Me, of course. I'll even let you get your face painted."</p><p> </p><p>"You'll let me? So would this be like a date?"</p><p>"Are you asking me out, Smallville?"<br/><br/>"Seeing as you supplied the tickets and demanded I take you, I assumed you were doing the asking."</p><p> </p><p>She laughed, slapping him on the arm. "In your dreams, maybe."</p><p> </p><p>"So I should take Chloe?" He couldn't resist pushing her buttons, even though they both new Chloe hated all things football.</p><p> </p><p>"How 'bout I take Chloe, and you can sleep on the couch?" She brought her face closer to his, their noses side-by-side and lips brushing with each word. "Alone."</p><p> </p><p>Eventhe threat couldn't wipe the smile from his face. "Lois, will you go on a date with me to the Shark's playoff game?"</p><p> </p><p>She pecked him on the lips. "If you insist."</p>
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